Last Days Of Summer

I shape dough - lay into pans and cover. She walks into the kitchen and peeks under the towel. She groans. Wheat. She likes white.

I ring the dinner bell, slice a loaf, and ask her to look in the cellar for some jam. Walking into the kitchen she's beaming - jar in hand. It's peach! One of her favorites. It was in the back hidden behind a sea of Apple Butter. She lets me know we're running low on the good stuff.

We sit down and she brings a spoon - no knife will do. And she piles the jam thick. Several times through the next few days I see her slice through wheat and smother with summer sweetness and I giggle. She reminds me of my grandpa.

Thankful for my precious girl.

Until then...
Jessie

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